The Reason I'm Sorry
by Anake14
Summary: America has a secret, but the other countries are definitely determined to see what he's hiding. South Italy and Canada are the only ones who know and they are determined to show England that there's more to America than he knows.


A/N: Stupid one-shot ideas that won't leave me alone…it will not turn into a multi-chapter! I swear this one will STAY a bloody one-shot! *sighs* I don't know why I bother saying it anymore…cause I probably will give in to putting up more chapters eventually. It was inspired by repeated listening of The Reason by Hoobastank and Now That We're Done by Metro Station. This takes place in a story I am RPing with a friend that will be out sometime this summer, it involves OCs and an undercover assignment given to America in order to take down an organization that could plunge the world into complete chaos from within the countries themselves. It's interesting to write and it's coming along pretty good despite how badly I suck at conspiracy theories and it started as a crack fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, The Reason by Hoobastank, or Now That We're Done by Metro Station.

Summary: America has a secret, but the other countries are definitely determined to see what he's hiding. South Italy and Canada are the only ones who know and they are determined to show England that there's more to America than he knows.

The Reason I'm Sorry

America was terrible at keeping secrets. His whole demeanor was too honest and he absolutely sucked at lying, but that was because of something he swore to himself after the Revolutionary War. He saw how badly those lies affected Britain and himself. It had hurt so, so badly, but that was his fault. America reminded himself over and over that it had been his fault and he never forgave himself for it.

Currently he was glad Lylia was distracting him, she made him feel human, the human part of him that needed to express itself could freely around her and the others, while he played the part of Eric Wright. She put her hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture he really appreciated considering that the countries were out there with no idea what was going on other than the fact that he was keeping secrets from them. Sometimes he wished that they would understand he only withheld information to protect them. In some ways he doubted it would matter to them, they'd still call him an idiot and they'd all find some way to turn it into an accusation against him in a negative manner. They could never be grateful for the things he did.

The thoughts stung him, but with each one he felt like he deserved them. He deserved every single hurtful word, because they had to be lies right? Lies were the only things that could hurt anyone as badly as to make them feel completely and utterly worthless at the hands of people who they truly care for, right? America wasn't so certain, but he deserved them for everything he had lied about that hurt England, that hurt Canada, for the revenge against Japan that had gone too far, and so many other mistakes. That's what the world had considered him after all. America, his people, they were considered mistakes that were stupid, gluttonous, lazy, insufferable, and so many other hateful words.

Yet he tried to hold onto the frail, withering hope that maybe someone remembered a time he was considered potential, when he could change the world, when America had been beautiful, bountiful, lovely, and a symbol of prosperity.

"Eric," Lylia, she was a lovely person, so gifted and talented; she was the type of person he knew his country could take pride in. She had so much untapped potential that if she went into politics he knew she would be the president to follow in John F. Kennedy's footsteps. She would be the one to change the world and take it by a storm, drawing people in and changing them with herself. She put a hand on his face to gain his attention, "Eric, America, look at me. Those people out there? They don't know you like I do, I've seen a lot in this country, this land that I love, I'm proud of my heritage, of being American, and I know just how good of a person you are. Don't let their judgments stop you before you can move forward. Sometimes you just have to let go. Sing the songs you were going to sing anyway. It doesn't matter that the person you're singing for is out there listening now. All that matters is you let go of your feelings. You've held onto them for so long, they're killing you, you're killing yourself with all the negativity and letting it swallow you without the thought of hope."

"You're so smart for someone so young," America smiled at her as he took her hand from his face and rubbed his fingers over the back of it. "Thank you, Lylia. You always seem to know just what to say."

"I'm glad Eric, because you deserve to be happy too. You aren't infallible and neither are they, they don't have the right to blame everything on you when they are just as much part of the problem," Lylia smiled at him. "Are you ready?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I'll let you know how I feel after this though."

"Okay," she said, as their group was called on stage to perform. Lylia followed the man she knew as her country and as a wonderful person faithfully, her friends trusting her judgment fully that he would not disappoint them.

"I'm not originally part of this band, but my friend here, Lylia," America said, gesturing to the black-haired girl who was blushing furiously looking like the tomato he always heard Spain call South Italy, "invited me to sort of sing and let out some emotions I've been holding back. That being said, this song is called Now That We're Done."

The instrumental portion began, and America counted out the beat, until it was time for him to sing, the memories mixing beautifully with the words as they left his lips, making them quirk up a bit as he recalled them fondly.

"Everybody get down!

She's just a friend you see

You always agree

You know I lie

But you still trust me

And you believed in so much hope

But I'm the one that let you go~"

It was painful to think about the Revolution in this way, no matter its truth. He had lied to England about France hanging around, saying that he was there to visit Canada instead of teaching him the latest philosophical views of his countrymen and influencing the thoughts of Americans who were fed up with the way the British crown was treating the land they considered there. England had believed him up until the end, believed that he was doing what was best for America, who he considered his little brother, and it had been Alfred, not Arthur, who had broken that bond. Shattered it in the wind and let it wash away with the rain that day in the field.

"Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Ohohooh~

Everybody get down!

Whohohooh

Everybody get down!

Everybody get down!"

America had been sorry. Sorry to break the bond with the person who cared for him most, who had raised him and loved him, who gave him everything. In return he had hurt him. It was painful and awful, but in the end, he had hurt him and had cried himself to sleep many a night apologizing and wishing for forgiveness, a forgiveness that never came and he doubted ever would, because he knew exactly how badly his betrayal had hurt England and he didn't dare hope the man still cared for him. No matter how he wished for it.

"You still call my phone

'Cause you still want me

I'll tell my friends

You're so annoying

You'll cry and curse

When you're alone

You'll laugh and flirt

When you're on the phone"

It was true. He knew it was from various sources, that England still cried and cursed him; he did it to his face while drunk, but he could never tell where he stood with the stubborn Brit, because England would say one thing and do another. He would talk to America when it was just the two of them and say things that gave him hope and it would just as quickly be dashed away in a room full of their friends when the Englishman would put him down.

"Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Ohohooh~

Everybody get down!

Whohohooh

Everybody get down!

Everybody get down!

And now I see you with him

And it's nothing like I thought it'd be

And I'll break down!

(and now I see you)

For you

(and it was nothing like I thought it'd be)"

Some days it seemed like England went out of his way to hurt America, the whole on-again, off-again thing he had with France who he considered his enemy that was more like a frenemy. America felt so inferior when he would see the two together, because it was then he truly wondered how small he was in England's eyes, the man who hardly gave him the time of day, but would still find some way to insult him. Seeing the two together was like watching what he wanted be taken away by a man who would repeatedly hurt England in ways that he had thought would hurt far more than his betrayal, or maybe it was because England expected to be hurt by France. Regardless, it hurt him, but he kept his mouth shut, because he wanted England happy.

"Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Now that we're done

I'm so Sorry

Why did I lie?

I'm so Sorry

I know I hurt you

I know I hurt you

Ohohooh~

Everybody get down!

Whohohooh

Everybody get down!

Everybody get down!"

America sighed as it ended, at least it was finally out there, England had heard it, even if he didn't know who the song was for, he heard the words and maybe America could finally start to forgive himself. Just a little. He had meant every word, but the stinging in his heart told him so far all he had done was succeed in opening old wounds that had scabbed and scarred but never fully healed.

Lylia watched him. He could feel her eyes prodding for answers and silently asking him if he was alright. He knew she would never push for those answers, she had grown up in a demanding home and had suffered from it to the point he had wondered why she hadn't rebelled, but he knew the answer to that, because she was his citizen and she had told him why. She held no loyalty to that family, but she had a duty to her younger siblings, she had a duty to her friends, and she had a duty to herself to try and make it work, if only for the sake of her mother and no one could deny that she had tried. America would be the first to admit it was a valiant effort, but now she was free and he understood her all the better for her hardship.

America nodded at her, to signal he was fine. He was surprised to note that he was, and he began to talk again, "This next song is dedicated to something that might have been. This song is called The Reason."

He let the instrumental start off again, preparing himself to sing with every emotion he had pent up from meetings and years of holding back feelings.

"I'm not a perfect person

There's many things I wish I didn't do

But I continue learning

I never meant to do those things to you

And so I have to say before I go

That I just want you to know

I found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you"

He hadn't meant to do a lot of things, but he had _definitely_ never meant to hurt England. America cared too much about the man to have wanted to intentionally hurt him. The Revolution could have been avoided if England had just _listened_ but he knew he shouldered the majority of the blame. He could have warned him, but then he might not have gained the independence _his_ people, his country, had cried out for and had taken.

He had tried desperately to change, to be someone England could be proud of, to try and get him to understand, but the spurned conversations and England's way of ignoring him in favor of something 'worth his time' had definitely taken a toll on him wanting to change. He couldn't change himself completely, no matter how desperate. He was only the personification of his people, their ideas, and what his land represented.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you

It's something I must live with everyday

And all the pain I put you through

I wish that I could take it all away

And be the one who catches all your tears

That's why I need you to hear

I found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you

And the reason is you

And the reason is you

And the reason is You"

America desperately tried not to search for the man he was singing the song for; he didn't know what he expected to see. His eyes so easily fell upon the group of his fellow country personifications, but he didn't care for their reactions and the one he wanted to see…he also didn't. He didn't know what he would feel if he saw rejection or hate or any other negative emotion from the one he loved. He had enough of it on a daily basis to know the best he could do was protect him from afar.

"I'm not a perfect person

I never meant to do those things to you

And so I have to say before I go

That I just want you to know

I found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you

I found a reason to show

A side of me you didn't know

A reason for all that I do

And the reason is you"

America kept his head down as he exited the stage, not caring for the clapping of the crowd that liked his singing nor looking for the countries he knew were going to ambush him with questions. He felt hollow, drained, and somewhat light. It was as though singing had lifted the emotions from him and helped him, just a bit. He didn't know who would find him first. Canada and South Italy were the only ones who honestly had any inkling about where he would be found, and they had more than likely been the ones to drag England here as well if he knew them as well as he believed he did. Sometimes those two could be awesome friends, but others they didn't know when to leave something alone. Besides, they were the only ones other than France, who pretty much guessed, that he had feelings for England.

"Are you alright?" Lylia asked.

He shrugged in reply. "As well as I can be. My brother and friend dragged my crush here. Those songs…"

"They were for him," she finished in understanding. "Eric, no, America, you never know how things will end up. You can't leave them alone forever; you can't just let things go unanswered or unsaid, because it will hold you back. I know you aren't human, but learn from our mistakes. If one day you weren't here or your crush was suddenly gone, how would you feel if you'd never said anything? You'd regret it. You'd spend your whole life wondering what if I had done _something_, _anything_ to change it."

"I know, Lylia, I know," America said, his eyes filling with tears that he had held back for so long. Years of hurt, hate, rejection, pain, and suffering alone, he had thought he could handle it, because the others hated when he even bothered to explain his own situations. Yet Lylia, a human, understood him so well, because she too had suffered in silence for the sake of others.

"Am-Alfred," Canada called, nodding a greeting to Lylia, Romano and England close by him.

Lylia smiled and waved hello, before standing tip toe and whispering in his ear, "I'll leave you alone for now, _Eric_, but I expect to know how it goes tomorrow."

With a wink and a wave, Lylia left him standing dazed, before he grinned and chuckled at her antics. "Who was that?" asked Romano.

"That was Lylia Greyson," he answered. "She's a good girl, all things considered, I'm proud to have her for a citizen. She has so much potential to be great."

England snorted. "I'm sure she does."

America frowned a bit, but he hid the hurt the comment caused him. "She kind of reminds me of Kennedy and Jefferson. She'll be interesting to watch over as far as my citizens go."

Canada shook his head at his brother, before saying, "That's not really why we're here. England has some questions for you."

America looked at England curiously. The man in question blushed and said, "Not here you git! We're in public! And don't you two have somewhere to be?!" he directed at Canada and Romano, who looked away and shuffled off looking highly suspicious to by-standers making America grin and laugh, while England shook his head with a small smile on his face. "They get that from you."

"Aw, Arthur, for all you know it could totally be your influence," America mock-pouted, glad for the playful mockery.

England chuckled and shook his head. America led him off to a private area…well as private as you can be in public walking along a sidewalk where everyone could mind their own business at least once they left the building he had just performed in.

"So, what's up Artie?"

"It's Arthur you twit!"

"Arthur, then," America said amiably, not wanting the man to be mad at him.

"Did you…who were those songs for?" he asked.

America wanted to avert his eyes from the Englishman's whose seemed to be pleading with him. He wanted to lie, but he had sworn never again, not after the lies that had hurt the man the first time, only little lies that made the world believe he was okay alone being their scapegoat where okay, because at least then they were happy. He swallowed. "You."

"Did you mean them?" England asked earnestly.

"Of course," America said, blushing and finally finding the ground more interesting so he wouldn't have to see England's eyes. "I've loved you too long not to have."

Suddenly, England's hand was cupping his chin as he coaxed America's face closer to his. America's breath hitched as he was forced to look into England's eyes that shone with such emotion he felt hope bubble up within him, no matter that he tried to stop it. He gave in when England whispered against his lips and closed the distance, bringing him into a kiss.

"I love you too, you git."

A/N: What do you think of the fluff/angst brain child of mine? The story that this is a one-shot off of won't be out till summer but that doesn't mean I can't have fun with it, right? ;)


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